


In Her Shoes

by breakingfiction



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8102233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakingfiction/pseuds/breakingfiction
Summary: It was supposed to be an innocent, homemade spell.
Until it went wrong. Very wrong.
Now I'm stuck in a body I don't want, in a House I don't belong to, and if James bloody Potter asks to copy my Charms homework one more time, I'll drown him in the lake.
Kapeesh?





	

Davina Selwyn has a problem.  
  
It’s not her classes, which she’s particularly skilled with. She can turn a bat into a bathtub and brew a vial of Amortentia strong enough to last a month. And if you rub her the wrong way, she’s prone to punishing you with her signature Ebublio jinx.   
  
It’s not her friends, of which she has several. One, a fluorescent rebel. Another a hopeless romantic. There’s the secret collector, the Quidditch jock, the charismatic player. And let’s not forget the tender academic or the fearless experimenter.   
  
And it’s certainly not her family who, although they share a rather disgraced name, have formed a loving and secure home despite their trials.  
  
The problem is her nose.  
  
That’s right, I’m Davina Selwyn, and this tragic tale begins with my nose. My slightly upturned, lightly freckled, _much_ too long nose.  
  
And although the problem seems small and trivial at first glance, it soon grew to become something much, much more – and by a curious happenstance I soon became stuck in a body I didn’t want, in a House I didn’t belong to, and bound by a cruel fate to find a way to work together with the very people I really cared nothing for.  
  
Until I did.  
  
*  
  
It starts with a fairly regular Tuesday when I’m seated, legs crossed, at one end of the Slytherin House table, inspecting the monstrosity in the back of a silver serving spoon.  
  
So what if I’m being vain? I have every right to be.  
  
“Would you stop obsessing already, Vee?” Comes an exasperated voice from my best friend beside me and I put down the makeshift mirror with a sigh and send the girl a dark glare.  
  
Ainsley Nott stares pointedly at me – her lips, painted a dusky rose, pursed and a sunny yellow bow sitting lop-sided in her pink hair.  
  
That was her latest act of rebellion – the hair – which she had dyed a ghastly shade of bubble-gum pink over the summer. Her parents went absolutely mental when they saw it – threatened to kick her out of their inheritance and everything. I know this because I was there when it happened, and it was fucking _awkward_ to say the least.  
  
Good thing she didn’t show them the crystal ball tattooed on her hip.  
  
Ainsley helps herself to a mini muffin and says, after tossing the entire thing into her mouth. “Isaperfectpwettynoseandyouknowit.”  
  
“I’m sorry, what? I don’t speak bullshit.” I retort, and she rolls her big brown eyes and pushes the sleeves of her white shirt up over her elbows. She hates her uniform, I know. When she’s not in it she’s typically dressed in any assortment of rainbow bright colours. Cobalt-blue, lime-green, candy-pink . For her – the brighter the better.  
  
It’s beginning to hurt my eyes, to be honest.  
  
“Why can’t I have been born a Meta, like Teddy Lupin?” I continue complaining, referencing our Head Boy from a couple of years back and envisioning his ocean-blue hair and flawless bone structure. “That boy is _beautiful_.”  
  
Ollie Evermonde snorts into his pumpkin juice from across the table and his sapphire eyes crinkle, “Yeah right. Under all that morphing he probably looks like a troll.”  
  
Of _course_ Ollie would say that. There was no way he could admit that maybe – _just maybe_ – some bloke who used to go here could be anywhere remotely as gorgeous as him. To be fair though, few were. Ollie has that whole perfectly unkempt thing going for him, with his chestnut hair that falls in just the right way over his face, and his lean body – perfectly sculpted from years of being a Quidditch Chaser.  
  
And those bedroom eyes?   
  
_To die for._  
  
I finish rolling my eyes at Ollie, and Ainsley jumps to Teddy’s defence. “Have you _seen_ his parent’s portrait in the Fifth Floor corridor? That boy is ‘au naturale’”  
  
“I’d do him,” Archibald Haynes purrs from next to Ollie and Ainsley raises an eyebrow at him.  
  
“You’d do anything with a pulse.”  
  
“True.”   
  
Archie, as we so affectionately call him, is what you might label an _experimenter_. Drugs, Sex, Spells. You name it, he’s done it – It’s no secret that he’s fearless. He’s constantly stumping our Professors with how he actually manages to _pass_ his classes, when he’s so very often absent from them.  
  
On top of that he’s changed his hair colour so often that no-one remembers its true colour. I think it might be some kind of strawberry blonde? Or dark brown…  
  
It’s currently a deep shade of molten-lava red – it suits him well.  
  
“Hey, that’s my future brother-in-law you’re talking about,” Dominique Weasley cuts in from beside me with a narrowed stare.  
  
She flicks her honey-highlighted strands over her shoulder and pouts as she adjusts the emerald and silver Prefects badge on her robes.  
  
She was hoping for Head Girl this year, if only to replace that feeling of being the black sheep in her family. First of her lot to be sorted into Slytherin – it became a little less daunting for her when her cousin Albus joined our House two years later.  
  
“Come on, Dom, everyone knows you’re in love with him,” Jasper Whitehall says distractedly through a mouthful of food. He’s scanning the copy of Quidditch Quarterly he has held in one hand while he scoops cereal into his mouth with the spoon in his other.  
  
And I thought he couldn’t multi-task.  
  
He certainly likes to use that excuse when he has to make the _tough_ decision between studying for N.E.W.Ts and developing tactics for his next Quidditch game.  
  
As Captain of the Slytherin Team, you can guess where his attention lies.   
  
Dominique turns a bright shade of red and I kick Jasper under the table. He drops his spoon with a loud clang, slopping milky cereal all over the table, and his amber eyes widen in confusion.  
  
We weren’t supposed to mention it – that Dominique Weasley is hopelessly in love with Teddy Lupin. In fact, we weren’t even supposed to _know_ about it.   
  
And if she didn’t make it so painfully obvious how much she pines for her sister’s future husband, then maybe she would have a better shot at keeping it secret.  
  
Though, that’s highly doubtful.  
  
“I am _not_ in love with Teddy,” She says, her voice shrill as it slips out between gritted teeth.  
  
Oh Merlin, there’s _the look_.  
  
Every time someone mentions her and Teddy in the same sentence, she gets this crazed look in her eyes. Like she’s trying to figure out how to murder you with as little witnesses as possible. It’s terrifying, really.  
  
I take one look at Jasper – who’s mouth has formed into a perfect ‘O’ – and I know it.  
  
He’s seen the look too.  
  
We’re saved by any further outbursts, thank Merlin, by a petite girl cantering down the aisle and propping herself down beside Ollie with a huff. She runs a hand through her dark, mussed up hair in an attempt to smooth it, and Ollie smirks at her in question.  
  
“What’s the score, Wilde?”  
  
Gigi Wilde purses her full lips and fixes up a button that’s come undone on her white shirt.   
  
“Plus one to Gryffindor,” She answers – her voice as sweet as honey.  
  
“Gryffindor, eh? This early in the morning…” Ollie deliberates with a raise of his eyebrows. “I can’t say I believe you.”  
  
Gigi rolls her emerald eyes and tuts at him, reaching over to take a warm croissant from the tray. “Believe what you want, Evermonde, I have _no_ reason to lie. I’m winning, remember?”  
  
Ollie sits back, pouting, and looking less than impressed at her reminder. He and Gigi keep a running tally on who has snogged more people from each house.  
  
I’m not even kidding.  
  
Gigi’s up by two.  
  
“Gigi, what’s new?” I enquire silkily, and she smirks.  
  
Georgiana Wilde can always, _always_ , be counted on for the latest gossip, happenings and scandals that plague our dear, old Hogwarts. She practically runs the gossip mill.  
  
And how does she gather so many secrets, pray tell?  
  
By enticing many a loose-lipped lover into an empty broom cupboard, or alcove, or even behind a tapestry (It’s happened more than once – and Gigi doesn’t lie).  
  
Ollie does it entirely for the pleasure. He’s a seventeen year old male; he’s hardly going to deny that a romp behind the Quidditch stands is anything more than what it sounds.  
  
But Gigi.  
  
Gigi’s motives are deeper.  
  
I bet the girl could rival even the Queen of gossip, Rita Skeeter herself, with the amount of secrets rolling around in that pretty, little head of hers.  
  
“Well, Freddie Weasley and Stella Cowan are done and dusted, for one.”  
  
Dom lets out a low gasp and her hand goes to her chest.  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
”Just snogged him outside the kitchens, didn’t I?  
  
“You _didn’t_ ,” I hiss – not so much shocked at the information but the fact that Gigi would lay her lips on Fred-bloody-Weasley of all people.  
  
Everyone knows that Fred is nothing but a hyped-up Quidditch buff who relishes in his so-called fame and popularity. And by _everyone_ I mean me and Dominique. But does that stop the majority of Hogwarts female population from throwing themselves at his feet.  
  
Clearly not.  
  
As if he had been summoned, Fred – accompanied by the devil himself, James Potter – saunters past our table and stops at our group.  
  
A coincidence I’m sure, seeing as their table is over the other side of the Hall and all.  
  
Fred leans over Gigi and whispers something in her ear which sets her giggling like mad, and his dark eyes glimmer with the prospect of his catch.  
  
I can’t help but snort at the scene.  
  
After Gigi’s done with him he’ll wish he never set his eyes on her.  
  
I can’t _wait_.  
  
James drops down across from us, sitting sideways as he straddles the bench and claps Archie on the shoulder in greeting.  
  
“You get what I asked for, Haynes?” He asks, sweeping his jet-black hair back off his face as he does so. I can feel my teeth gritting harder in his presence and my jaw aches from the pressure.  
  
Archie makes a small noise and rummages for something in his bag. James surveys the rest of the group – his teeth flash white through his smile as he scans us through hazel eyes.  
  
“Morning Dom, how’s training going for the match next month? Your Dad bet ten Galleons on Gryffindor to win. How about that?”  
  
Dom, who’s the only one of us girls to actually play on the Quidditch Team, hisses at her cousin.  
  
“James, kindly back the fuck off or I’ll reveal the nickname your Mumsy calls you when she tucks you in at night.”  
  
Harsh.  
  
Her family take Quidditch _very_ seriously – though I highly doubt that Bill Weasley would bet anything against his darling daughter.  
  
“Careful Weasley – you forget who you’re cursing at,” A smug grin slides onto his lips and he points at the Head Boy badge on his black sweater.  
  
I click my tongue loudly and snap, my voice venomous. “Don’t you have some helpless groupie to be corrupting? Run along.”  
  
“Selwyn – as pleasant as always,” James smirks, amused. And then he leans forward to ask in a calculating voice. “So, you still busy fucking Marlowe or are you going to give the rest of us a go one of these days?”  
  
His eyes linger on my face and my nostrils flare. In an instant Ollie is on his feet – his fists clenched tight.  
  
“You may be Head Boy, Potter, but don’t think I won’t smack that shit-eating grin off your face.” He barks at James, who whistles lowly and puts his hands up in mock innocence.  
  
“Relax, Evermonde, it’s a joke. You ever heard of those before?”  
  
Archie finishes his search and pushes a small package wrapped in brown paper into James’ hand roughly, looking thoroughly unimpressed with his antics.  
  
“Nice doing business with you,” James says cheerily as he pushes himself up from the bench before turning back to us, holding my eye for a second or two.  
  
He grins darkly to himself, and then he walks off – his shoulders lean and strong from years of Quidditch. Merlin, it makes me sick how fit he is, even when he’s being a complete and utter tosser.  
  
I gag.  
  
Like, I’m literally choking on the blueberry that I had tossed in my mouth.  
  
Ainsley starts to smack me on the back until I’m breathing properly again, and Ollie says “Bloody hell,” which doesn’t help the situation in the least.  
  
James Potter is a prat – prancing around with his I-don’t-care attitude, thinking he runs the bloody place. It doesn’t help that he’s the son of the Wizarding World’s golden saviour, Harry Potter.  
  
And this year he’s Head Boy _and_ Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team – the titles had done absolutely nothing to shrink his already massive ego.  
  
Good one McGonagall.  
  
A spluttering noise distracts me and Jasper drops his goblet with a clang. The contents spill out over the table and he wipes his mouth and spits out, “ _Tentacular_ ,” before his face starts turning a deep shade of purple.  
  
Dominique shrieks. Gigi knocks over a candlestick in alarm. Archie’s rolling his eyes back into his head in annoyance and Ollie says “Bloody hell!” again, which makes me want to smack him.  
  
Immediately I’m on my feet and at Jaspers side. I shake Ollie’s arm roughly and say, “Take him to the Hospital Wing, _quick_.”  
  
Jaspers face deepens to an alarming shade of violet and he takes great, gulping gasps of air. Ollie hoists Jaspers arm over his shoulder while Archie takes the other, just as Professor Pummell, our Head of House, is racing down the stairs from his own table to assist.   
  
The boys have barely cleared the hall when I hear a snicker of laughter coming from the Gryffindor table and my head snaps up to see James Potter and Fred Weasley, along with their other daft friends enjoying the scene.  
  
Those dirty, little…  
  
Distracting us all so they can slip Venomous Tentacular juice into the goblet of a rival Captain?  
  
Now that’s low.  
  
Delia Grey – James’ latest play-thing – is hanging off his arm and grinning obnoxiously. I have the sudden, savage urge to send an Ebublio Jinx her way and knock that stupid smile off her face.  
  
Professor Longbottom, the Gryffindor’s Head of House, is leisurely ambling over to them – his hands in his pockets and his eyebrows raised in clear disappointment.  
  
Ha! Detention for a month, I hope.   
  
Rowan Nott walks in just as I’m sending a heated glare at the prats across the Hall. His eyes are wide as he adjusts the wire-rimmed glasses sitting on his long nose  
  
“What the bloody hell happened to Jas?”  
  
Ainsley scrunches her face at her twins’ appearance – his blonde ringlets a right tousled mess and his shirt untucked.  
  
I bet ten Galleons he fell asleep in the library again.  
  
Gigi sniffs indelicately as she finishes off her fourth croissant. “Those Gryffindor arseholes,”  
  
I guess her romance with Fred was short-lived then?  
  
Ainsley snorts and says, “Well, you know Jas – he won’t let this slide. Those punks’ll be running with their tails between their legs faster than you can say ‘ _Gigi drew the enemy to our gates_.’”  
  
“Hey!” Gigi protests through a mouthful of croissant.  
  
Merlins beard, is that _five_ she’s had now? Where the hell does the girl put it all? She’s the tiniest one out of all of us, by far.  
  
Rowan splutters. “ _What?_ ”  
  
Ainsley bobs her eyebrows up and down in confirmation and Rowan stares at Gigi in utter bewilderment. She shrugs her shoulders innocently.  
  
I think he’s just jealous that it was Fred and not him. It’s completely obvious to everyone but Rowan how much he’s been pining for Gigi since we returned to Hogwarts almost a month ago.  
  
Poor lamb.  
  
“Come on,” Dominique says, waving her hand at us all wearily. “We have Potions.”  
  
*  
  
I fall into my seat next to my Potions partner, Juniper Spitz, and fail to conceal my sigh at the horrid, brown Christmas sweater she’s wearing over her uniform.  
  
Really?  
  
Did you fall into your trunk this morning and just decide to wear whatever stuck, or are you seriously celebrating the festive season three months early?  
  
She doesn’t acknowledge my arrival – she rarely does – instead she continues with whatever she’s scribbling on the parchment in front of her furiously as her mousy hair spills out of its usual pony-tail onto the desk beside her.  
  
How this charming specimen won the Head Girl badge over Dominique, I will never know.  
  
“Morning, Spitz,” I say, spitting her name dispassionately as I drop my books onto the desk beside her.  
  
She looks up with a start – quill still poised in her hand – and pushes her large glasses further up her nose to inspect me.  
  
“Oh, Selwyn,” She says flatly, and stows her parchment in her bag just as Professor Pummell enters the room, trailed by both Ollie and Archie.  
  
I raise my eyebrows at Archie as I catch his eye, but he simply shakes his head before taking his seat next to Freya Casey.  
  
Pummell surveys the class through pale, blue eyes before turning his nose up at Junipers attire.  
  
“Miss Spitz, I would think as Head Girl that you would be well aware of the uniform requirements and what is and _is not_ appropriate to wear in the classroom.”  
  
 “But Sir,” She protests, and half of the class groans loudly. “It’s always _so_ cold down here in the dungeons. I don’t know how you Slytherins stand it? It’s inhumane, for sure. I bet we could start a petition to have Headmaster McGonagall install a heating unit in the classroom. Don’t you think that would be a lot nicer for all of us?”  
  
Our Professor stares at Juniper in impatience and taps his long fingers against his wooden desk.  
  
“Lose the sweater, Miss Spitz, before I’m forced to confiscate it and use it as a Kneazle repellent.”  
  
Professor Pummell is my spirit animal, I swear.  
  
Juniper huffs as she turns a bright shade of red and removes the sweater. Someone whistles from across the classroom, and we all giggle before Pummell tells us to shut up and he starts the lesson.  
  
The task today is the Helio Potion, and even though Juniper and I don’t exactly get along, we fall into a casual synchronisation while working, as we often do –  with Juniper scolding me every so often for almost putting in a quarter teaspoon too much Redfig powder or two extra Demiguise hairs.  
  
After my third incorrect measurement, she clicks her tongue impatiently and says in a harsh whisper.  
  
“Selwyn – would you quit staring at the back of Potters head and _concentrate_.”  
  
So maybe I had been getting caught up in my inventive and incredibly detailed plans for exacting revenge on James Potter and Fred Weasley. So what? I can’t help it…  
  
Knowing that _my_ friend is stuck lying in the Hospital Wing because of those idiots makes my blood boil something fierce.   
  
I drag my mind away from the thought.  
  
By the end of the lesson Pummell awards us top marks for our work, and I roll my eyes openly as Juniper grins in delight.  
  
Ollie bangs a fist on our desk just as we’re packing up to leave.  
  
“How’s it going, Spitz? Too bad it’s not swallows, huh?” He says with a wink at my partner, and I have to stifle my laugh.  
  
“Hilarious,” Juniper says dryly, proceeding to ignore us both.  
  
“Vee, we’re heading to the Cove, you coming?”  
  
The Cove – which is really just a hidden alcove Archie once found behind an old tapestry on the Seventh Floor – is where we usually spend our free periods. I smile demurely at him.  
  
“Lead the way.”   
  
The rest of the group has already gone ahead – save for Jasper, who Ollie tells me won’t be out of the Hospital Wing until this evening, and Dominque who has Arithmancy. We all tried to convince her to take Ancient Runes with us instead, but she wouldn’t budge. She has a knack for numbers, she says – and Merlin knows that when that girl sets her mind to something, there’s no budging her.  
  
Ollie and I trail through the halls towards the staircase, and I spot a distinct blur of blue merge into our corridor. I seize the opportunity, slinking up to Luca Marlowe and purring, “Marlowe, my love, I know you have something tucked up your sleeve for me.”  
  
Luca Marlowe gives me a lazy half-smile as he peers down at me and lets me loop my arm through his as we walk. The most brilliant mind in Ravenclaw, and what does he use his smarts for? Illegal spells, potions and jinxes. He makes the _best_ hair-lengthening tonics and practically created the eyelash extension charm.  
  
The boy can invent anything. And luckily for me, he’s willing to share.  
  
For the right price.  
  
He raises a dark eyebrow at me and says dryly. “What is it this time, Selwyn?”  
  
“Nose. Just a small reduction,”  
  
“Fine, but it’ll cost you. Fifteen Galleons.”  
  
“FIFTEEN-“  
  
“Do you want it or not?”  
  
I stop and pout at him unhappily, before reaching into my bag and handing over the payment. “This is bloody daylight robbery,” I complain loudly as the coins clink into his hands and he tosses them into his pocket. “Do your parents know you’re a swindler by trade?”  
  
Luca takes a step closer – so close that I can feel his breath rolling warm and sweet over my face. He grins down at me darkly, the familiar scent of him clouding my senses and sending goosebumps rolling over my skin.  
  
“I think they’d thank me for conning blood money off a Death Eaters offspring.”  
  
“Fuck you, Marlowe.”  
  
“Maybe later,”  
  
He traces a thumb over my bottom lip before he’s gone, disappearing into the throng of students heading to their next class, and I growl quietly under my breath.  
  
So, I may have hooked up with Luca once or twice.  
  
Or a few times.  
  
Or almost every night this past week.  
  
Doesn’t mean I like the guy.  
  
I catch up with Ollie who’s waiting for me further down the corridor. He sends me a crooked grin, but says nothing. Sometimes, when we’re away from the group, he’s quiet – thoughtful.  
  
I can usually guess what’s on his mind.  
  
You see, I understand Ollie on a deeper level. His grandfather was Walden Macnair, a madman and murderer who was one of the Dark Lord Voldemorts most ruthless Death Eaters during the Second Wizarding War.  
  
Not many know this, and he keeps it that way. Though Macnair was estranged with his daughter long before Ollie was born – the burden of it presses down on him constantly. At least he has the name of Evermonde to hide behind, one which has ties to a former Minister for Magic. Rowan, Ainsley and I don’t have that luxury.  
  
It doesn’t help the cause when the twin’s uncle, Theodore Nott, is constantly in the spotlight for his wrong-doings and misdemeanours – currently serving an eighteen month sentence in Azkaban for his possession of an illegal Time-Turner, and his resistance of arrest against Harry Potter himself.  
  
My own grandfather is twenty-three years into a life sentence for the atrocities he had been a part of during both Wars. And although my parents have never wanted to be a part of that life of inequality and hate, our surname carries a heavy weight.  
  
So, the four of us are the legacy of a twisted generation – Macnair, Nott, Selwyn. The victims of prejudice, fear and scorn.  
  
But somehow, we have to live with it.  
  
And so we do.  
  
After a while of walking, Ollie breaks the silence.  
  
“Why you associate with that git I will never know?”  
  
I shrug – knowing _exactly_ who he means.  
  
“What? He’s good for resources,”  
  
Ollie rolls his eyes.  
  
“And he’s always up for a shag,” I add, as if that helps my case.  
  
It doesn’t.  
  
“What about me, huh?” Ollie says, and I bite on my thumbnail out of habit as we approach the Cove. “You know I’m more than happy to oblige.”  
  
I roll my eyes and push his shoulder. _Of course_ he’s happy to oblige – if that means getting one up on the score against Gigi.  
  
“Oliver, we’ve already talked about this. It’d make things super weird, right? Besides – I’m rooting for Gigi to win,”   
  
Ollie cries out in outrage and reaches out to tickle me but I duck quickly behind the tapestry before he can grab me. He steps in half a second later, shaking his head in amusement. We tramp down the dim corridor – the roof so low it almost hits Ollies head – and into the alcove.  
  
The others are already there, lounging around the window seats of the small rounded room and the large pillows on the ground. As far as we know, no-one else knows of this place, and we’d happily keep it that way.  
  
We’ve added little personal touches to it over the years – soft, cushy blankets, an old wizard radio, and even a trunk for storing snacks.  
  
Although someone keeps stealing my sherbet lemons…  
  
I bet its Ainsley. I know she loves them.   
  
“Vee!” The dirty thief herself addresses me as I drop down onto a cushion on the floor, and Ollie falls down beside me and lets me settle against his shoulder.  
  
“Will you pierce my nose for me?”  
  
“No fucking way – you know how I am with blood.”  
  
“I’ll do it,” Archie pipes up. “One pinch of Stoneroot and you won’t be able to feel a thing.”  
  
Ainsley claps her hands together in delight and I shake my head at the two of them.  
  
 _Idiots._  
  
“Archie what did you give Potter before?” I ask casually, though the boy in question sends me a pointed look.  
  
“You know very well, Davina, that I’m bound by contract to not give out my customer’s details or purchases.”  
  
I glare at him.  
  
“What contract?”  
  
“There is no contract; he just doesn’t want to lose business.” Gigi says with a click of her tongue. And by ‘business’ she means his selling of less than legal substances to the student population.  
  
How he manages to get these sorts of things into Hogwarts, I will never know.  
  
The low hum of the radio purrs in the background. The dial of it is broken and it constantly plays through a loop of old, 1950’s muggle music. No-one seems to mind it, though. Gigi takes a box of Bertie Botts Beans from the trunk and passes them around.  
  
“Gross, Peanut Butter,” Rowan states in disgust as he chews, though soon goes back to scratching away on his parchment. I smile at him softly – he and Ainsley are complete polar opposites. Ainsley really couldn’t care less about classes. For her, the worse her grades, the more upset her parents are with her – and that was really all that Ainsley wanted in life.  
  
I can understand why. Her parents hold high standards for both their children, still being set in a lot of the old, Pure-blooded ways, and Ainsley detests it.  
  
Rowan, however, is eager to please. He wasn’t born quick-minded like Ollie and Archie, who’ve received top marks since first-year with barely lifting a finger. Nor does he have the careless attitude towards classes like Jasper, who gets by on his Quidditch prowess alone.  
  
Rowan works hard for his grades – and it pays off. He’s the best in our year, by far.  
  
I take a yellow Bean from the box, hoping for lemon, but screw up my face in disgust as the flavour explodes in my mouth.  
  
 _Earwax._  
  
“I have a date with Leo Earnshaw tonight.” Archie’s smug voice distracts me as he crosses his arms behind his head and lies back on the window seat with his head in Ainsley’s lap.  
  
“And by ‘date’ you mean snorting Moondust and getting down and dirty in the Hufflepuff dorms, yeah?” Ainsley smirks and twists a strand of Archies bright, red hair in her fingers.  
  
Ollie raises his eyebrows. “Does he know you were shagging his sister last week?”  
  
“Or that your middle name is Merlin?”  
  
Archie looks at Gigi, horrified. “How do you know _that!_ ”   
  
Gigi winks and says no more, popping a Bean into her mouth and grinning pleasantly at whichever flavour she gets.  
  
We spend our entire free period that way – laughing and talking as the warm sunlight streams in through the tall windows, illuminating the specks of dust floating by in the air. I begin to grow lazy and tired, and I’m soon curled up beside Ollie, trying to keep my eyes open. But before I know it Rowan’s yelling at us all to get up and go to Charms class, and I curse him.  
  
Loudly.  
  
*  
  
Ollie, Ainsley and I are leaving the Common Room later that night when I feel a flutter in my pocket and when I check there’s a note from Luca asking to meet him in the Armoury.  
  
I have to refrain myself from punching the air in excitement.  
  
 _Goodbye_ to the mountain of a thing in the middle of my face.  
  
I mean my nose, if you didn’t already get it.  
  
Seriously, it has its own ski slopes and everything.  
  
I can feel Ollie’s eyes on the note over my shoulder, but I ignore it. We’re supposed to be picking up Jasper from the Hospital Wing and bringing him back to his dormitory. I, however, now have other plans…  
  
“You guys are okay getting Jas, right? I have to be somewhere…” I say carelessly, and Ollie crosses him arms over his chest, thoroughly unimpressed as he stares down at me through narrowed eyes.  
  
“You’re seriously bailing on your poor, sick friend just to go and hook up with Marlowe?”  
  
“You go girl,” Ainsley grins and high fives me. Ollie gives her a pointed stare and she pokes her tongue out at him.  
  
“It’s not like _that_ ,” I reason, though Ollie looks unconvinced. “Besides, you two are more than enough to cheer up Jasper. I expect he’ll want you to take him to the kitchens after lying in the Hospital Wing starving all day.”  
  
Ollie lets out a disapproving huff and I say my goodbyes before I slink down the corridors and up to the Third Floor, biting at my thumb as I go.  
  
Like he’s in any position to judge, I think with a scowl plastered on my face, when he’s the one who’s been in that stupid competition with Gigi since Fifth Year, which sees him sneaking out at all hours of the night.  
  
Merlin forbid he ever decided to settle down and actually get a _girlfriend_.  
  
It’s almost curfew, and since Dominique isn’t patrolling tonight if I get caught sneaking about, I’m _screwed._ I spot Luca easily as I slip into the corridor lined with massive suits of armour, and he grins at me – his blue eyes flashing in the dim moonlight coming in through the windows. He has his hands behind his back, and he grins at me lazily.  
  
“So?” I say by way of greeting as I approach, “What did you come up with?”  
  
Luca holds a folded piece of parchment between his fingers, in front of his chest. When I try to take it he drags it back out of reach. I narrow my eyes at him.   
  
“Uh, uh – you _know_ the deal,” He drawls – his voice laced with amusement and his face hovering dangerously close to my own as he takes a step forwards.  
  
I roll my eyes. It isn’t enough that I had already dished out fifteen Galleons for the bloody spell, he always wants _more_.  
  
I purse my lips in impatience and say, “I thoroughly dislike you, you know?”  
  
“Yeah? Show me how much,” He breathes before catching my lips with his. His hand is on my chin, tilting it up towards him – rough, as always.   
  
Not that I’m complaining.  
  
And then I’m being pressed back into the wall beside one of the many armoured suits – my arms pinned above my head as Luca parts my mouth with his tongue and deepens the kiss. Despite popular opinion (I’m looking at you, Evermonde) I hadn’t actually come here just to hook up with Marlowe. I had much bigger things in mind.  
  
Literally.  
  
It’s only when he’s hitched my leg up around his waist that I stop, press my hands against his chest, and say in a shaky breath.  
  
“The spell, Luca. _Now.”_  
  
Luca lets out a dramatic sigh before dropping me rather ungraciously and holding the parchment out, this time letting me take it from him.   
  
“The wand movement is a short _flick_ , like this,” He demonstrates with his wand against his nose, his dark hair falling into his face in that way that makes me want to pull at it. “Just don’t push too hard, or you’ll end up like You-Know-Who.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“You-Know-Who – you know? Jesus Christ, _you_ of all people should know who.”  
  
“You’re an arse.”  
  
Luca chuckles darkly and turns to leave, before stopping and saying as an afterthought. “Remember, that page will self-combust after you’ve read it. Can’t have any old freeloader getting a hold of these things, can we?”  
  
He shoves his hands into his pockets before strolling off down the dark corridor, though I barely notice as I take off in the opposite direction in search for a place to perform the spell in private. I settle on the Girls bathroom on the First Floor, which no-one usually uses due to the pesky lurker that haunts it – Moaning Myrtle.  
  
I’ve barely made it to the bottom of the second floor staircase when I hear an amused chuckle echo down the shadowy corridor.  
  
“Well, well. Look what we have here,”  
  
 _Shit._  
  
I turn and face my captor and let out a low groan of displeasure.  
  
James _freaking_ Potter.  
  
  
  
  *  
  
  
 **A/N:** _Hey! So it probably wasn't the best idea for me to start another story, since I already have two waiting to be completed, but I couldn't help myself! This nasty, little plot bunny was jumping around in my head for a good, long while. Demanding to be written._  
  
 _So here it is! This chapter is pretty much a basic, boring introduction, setting the scene and introducing the enormous cast of crazy characters._  
  
 _Let me know which character you're liking best so far, or if there's anyone you totally hate or just whatever really! The lovely little review box is just sitting down there waiting for you ;)_  
  
 _Until the next chapter! xx_


End file.
